by Teresa Toten
I mean, who was I?
Why was I?
A girl’s got to know these things.
I folded the letter and shoved it into an envelope and addressed it to Betty’s new home.
Home. With a family, a real family, to belong to.
I showered and got myself done up in my second new scoop-neck T-shirt, the royal-blue one. Grady approved of it the most. I slunk out of 75 Hazelton. I could hear the professor and Grady speaking softly. They were busy. They didn’t need me always barging in on them.
Come to think of it, no one needed me.
Snap out of it! I hated it when people got all droopy drawers, but I especially hated it when I did. So I gave my head a shake, plastered on a big smile and marched to work. Still smiling, I combed the place for Ethan. Even when he was mad at me, Ethan made me feel “real.” Besides, I felt awful for taking off on him. As usual, he was fiddling with equipment onstage.
“Hey!”
Nothing.
“Hey, I looked all over for you last night, but I couldn’t find you. Look, I’m sorry about…”
Ethan stood up. He was holding a couple of screwdrivers. “Who’s the old guy?”
“The old…oh, that’s Cassidy. He’s a friend.”
Ethan nodded. He didn’t get all snotty and holier than thou. He looked right at me for a bit and then shook his head. “Okay.” He nodded. “I got it.” And he walked away.
Wait. What?
“What? Ethan, wait!” But he kept on walking.
The place was filling up fast. I had to start on my tables. “Ethan!” But he did not turn around. And I couldn’t figure out why it mattered so much. But it did.
“Universal Soldier”
(BUFFY SAINTE-MARIE)
TWO DAYS LATER I was back at the library. Mr. Kenyatta was looking especially fine, sporting a navy-blue suit and red paisley tie. “Hi, Mr. Kenyatta. You look really nice today.”
“Thank you, Miss Toni. I will be taking my Canadian citizenship test later this afternoon, and I feel that one should look as dignified as the occasion demands.”
“Which reminds me, I said hi to the professor for you and he says hi back. Well, he actually said to send you his kindest regards, which I figure is even better, right?” Mr. Kenyatta busied himself with a file folder, but if he could have blushed, I think he would have.
“I have significant news for you, Miss Toni. I have managed to unearth the mystery of the Noronic.” He slid the file folder over to me, but he looked pained as he did so. It was bursting with marked newspaper clippings. I went to flip it open, but he put his hand over the folder.
“Might I suggest that you go to one of the tables to peruse the clippings in private?”
“Why, what is it?”
“We could not find the Noronic as a fine-dining establishment because it never was one, Miss Toni. The Noronic was a vessel that sailed to various ports of call on the Great Lakes. It was considered the most beautiful passenger ship in all of Canada.”
“But that’s great! It all makes sense. The dinner menu would be from the Noronic’s dining room. You’re absolutely amazing, Mr. Kenyatta. What a breakthrough!”
But Mr. Kenyatta did not look amazed with himself.
“Was, Miss Toni. It was the most beautiful passenger ship in the country.” He finally met my eyes. “On September 14, 1949, when the Noronic docked in Toronto, hailing from Detroit, it caught fire. The vessel and the city were ill prepared. It remains, to this day, the greatest single tragedy in Toronto’s history. Over 150 souls lost their lives in the fire.”
Fire? A fire? Mr. Kenyatta continued to speak, but it was just like my last meeting with Mrs. Hazelton. I heard the music of his beautiful voice, but I couldn’t make out the actual words. Was that it? Were my parents on board? They had to have been, or why would I have the menu? Was that the fire of my nightmares? The shattering glass?
The words stopped after a time, and Mr. Kenyatta led me to a table with a reading lamp at the far corner of the library.
I wanted to throw up on it.
When I got a better grip on myself, I opened the folder. The clippings were yellowed and curling, orphaned from their newsprint homes. Each was tagged with the date and source. But the photographs…the photographs were depictions of hell. I picked up a clipping from the Toronto Daily Star, dated September 17, 1949.
160 DIE IN SHIP FIRE
IN TORONTO HARBOR
Fear Bay Hides Bodies of Many Who
Leaped Heroism and Horror Mingled
as Flames Sweep S.S. Noronic
Firemen Comb Ruins for Dead
Nearly 200 persons perished in the fire which destroyed the S.S. Noronic, biggest pleasure ship on the Great Lakes, at the Canada Steamship Lines dock in Toronto early today. This was the estimate of firemen as they cut their way through the charred and twisted wreckage.
Fire Chief Peter Herd said there was “no telling” how high the death toll will go, and it might be two or three days before the fate of all the 550 passengers and 180 crew members is known.
Bodies were being taken off the blackened ship by the score…
I had to put the clipping down. Were my parents’ bodies among all those corpses? Those poor, poor people.
Went Up Like Paint Factory
“It went up like a paint factory,” said one witness. British United Press quoted survivors as saying fire extinguishers failed to work when they grabbed them from the walls to battle the flames sweeping through the hallway. “There was negligence on somebody’s part,” the news service quoted Don Church, Silverlake, Ontario, as saying. Another passenger said the extinguisher he seized had no fluid in it…
My mind swept to the panic and horror of the passengers on board. What a contrast to the fire at our orphanage. How orderly we were in comparison, a bunch of kids and a couple of adults. The Little Ones all did as they were told, just like we had practiced. And we Seven…me, Malou, Sara, Dot, Tess, Cady and dear Betty, my sisters…No one could have asked for more from us.
Burned beyond recognition.
Tarpaulins were used to carry the dead off the deck after they were carried there by firemen. Some were burned beyond recognition. In some cases only bones were found.
Police officers and firemen, who lifted the remains into the improvised stretchers, which took two and three bodies at a time, were visibly shaken. “I hope I never see that again,” said one officer, his face white…
Apparently, many of the dead remained unidentified. Even if I found and combed the death lists, I couldn’t be completely sure one way or the other. I closed the folder. I wanted to unsee what I had just seen; failing that, I wanted to run. But there was no riverbank for me to run to. I had to sit with the images, with the horror. Is that where my nightmares were born? On the Noronic? I didn’t know how long I was rooted there, wincing at flames that no one else could see.
“Miss Toni?” A gentle hand on my shoulder. Mr. Kenyatta’s hand. “It’s late. I have the citizenship exam to attend, and I believe you have your work.”
I got up slowly, happy to have Mr. Kenyatta lead me out of the stacks. We went our separate ways when we hit the street. I hope I wished him good luck. I hope my manners kicked in automatically. I don’t remember.
It was busier than usual at work, and there was no time to talk to anyone. A singer named Buffy Sainte-Marie was coming in for the evening set with the Ramblers. There was a lot of excitement around her tune “Universal Soldier,” a haunting and powerful song that she actually wrote in the Purple Onion. People started piling in really early in order to secure a table. Rachel was scurrying from table to table and only crying intermittently. Big Bob was meeting and greeting like his life depended on it. Mr. Goldman was understandably preoccupied with the evening’s sets and his guest artist. And Ethan still acted as if I had a contagious disease.
I needed Betty. I needed the others. They would make sense of the Noronic and what it meant or, at the very least, just hold me.
&n
bsp; I needed a hug.
I did my work, made and hauled espressos and cappuccinos, cleaned tables, joked with customers, all with flames still licking the corners of my mind. I barely noticed how magnificent Buffy Sainte-Marie was onstage. Nobody once asked how I was or anything about me. Why would they? I was nobody to them. Why would anyone care?
Would there ever be anyone who cared?
The fist gripping my heart loosened as soon as I saw him. Cassidy. It was near closing. He was standing at the back wall, arms crossed, with a smile that was meant only for me. “Hey, you look like you need a friend and a jolt of happy. Come to the Minc with me.”
I didn’t hesitate. “You bet!” I cashed out in record time. When we got outside on the muffled, silent streets, Cassidy didn’t ask what was up or quiz me. He just put his arm around me. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay. You’re with me now.”
“She Loves You”
(THE BEATLES)
EVERY SINGLE SLINKY lady in the club, plus all the waitresses, kept “accidently” bumping against the back of Cassidy’s chair on the way to the washroom or wherever. It’s a burden being with a fella who’s prettier than you are. Cassidy seemed oblivious to all of them. I tried my best to be polite and ask him questions about himself, but he kept waving me off. “You seem upset, Toni. What’s happened?” He kept asking and encouraging me until I told him all about the Noronic.
Cassidy reached over and put his hand on mine as he listened. I loved it when he did that. It felt tingly but safe, comforting and thrilling, all at the same time. It also had the bonus effect of stopping all the accidental bumping into his chair.
“Tell me about your people here, Toni. Surely you have people keeping an eye on you, watching out for you?”
“Oh no, not at all! I mean, they’re great, and they’ve helped me out, but they’re not kin or like the Seven. I only got to Toronto in June, after all.” But that didn’t feel quite right either. So I launched into a peppy description of my generous landlady, the patient professor and the resourceful Mr. Kenyatta. I got up a real head of steam on the swell people in my life.
“And you think Big Bob is all tough as nails, but he’s been such a pussycat, and Mr. Goldman has been unbelievably sweet, and he got me onto the Scarlet Sue thing. But they’re not family, and it’s not like at the orphanage,” I repeated. “They can’t be expected to keep tabs on me. I never in a million years thought I’d miss that.”
Cassidy raised an eyebrow. “And how about Goldman’s kid?”
“Ethan?” When was the last time we’d talked or he was even near me? It struck me that I missed him being near, the feeling I got…“We’re barely friends.”
Cassidy squeezed my hand. “I’m glad.”
My heart stopped at the hand squeeze and needed a moment to start up again. “So yeah, I’m alone and all, but I’ve met many fine-quality people straight off the bus.” I didn’t want him to feel sorry for me, after all. “Toronto is a wonderful city, full of helpful and truly kind people.” Okay, I’d gone from being down in the dumps to doing a happy dance in three sentences. Even I was having trouble keeping up with myself.
Thank God I was interrupted when the nice blind man, Mr. Marcetti, appeared at our table. Cassidy jumped to his feet. “Mr. Marcetti, please join us.” He pulled out a chair, which was really thoughtful given Mr. Marcetti’s condition.
“Just for a moment.” He looked right at me. “Ah, the beautiful Toni.” The man was amazing. “What have the two of you been discussing so intently?”
Cassidy looked away. He seemed to be concentrating on the empty stage. “Well, sir, we were just reviewing Toni’s current situation and her lack of connections in the city. Sadly”—and here Cassidy actually did look sad—“sadly, our Toni has made no progress in hunting down any links to her father or mother.”
Our Toni?
Cassidy began fiddling with the little plastic spoon that came with his espresso.
“Ah. I’m genuinely sorry to hear that, but perhaps this will cheer you up,” Mr. Marcetti said. “I believe I mentioned my parties to you the last time we met?”
I nodded eagerly, until I remembered that the poor man was blind. “Oh yes, sir. You did, sir.”
“Well, some of my guests would certainly be of your parents’ vintage, and they are powerful people who knew the lay of the land in the old days.” He smiled in Cassidy’s direction. “Perhaps one of my guests would be able to help with your search. I’m having a special party next Sunday night.”
Snap! The little spoon that Cassidy was holding broke in two. He turned to Mr. Marcetti. “I’m not sure that Toni is in the right frame of mind for a—”
“I’d love to go! Can we go, Cassidy? Please? Maybe someone will know something.”
Mr. Marcetti turned to Cassidy. “It seems your young friend would be delighted to attend.”
“Then I would be delighted to escort her, sir.”
Why weren’t we all happy here?
“Excellent. I look forward to seeing the both of you.” Mr. Marcetti got out of his chair and flawlessly made his way to another table. He joined a group of men who were all smoking and discussing something with a fair amount of intensity. Each wore sunglasses. Was it a special outing of some kind?
“I know I’ve said it before, but Mr. Marcetti is absolutely—”
“Toni, he’s not blind.”
“He’s not?”
Cassidy sank deeper into his chair and shook his head.
“And those other gentlemen with the black sunglasses are not…?”
More head shaking.
“But why would they wear…?”
“It’s a look some men, some businessmen…it’s time to go.”
He was angry.
I didn’t blame him. It would be embarrassing to be at a swell, sophisticated club like this with a girl who was too stupid to breathe. I went rigid trying to remember all the dumb things I must have said to Mr. Marcetti.
“You don’t want to take me to the party. Are you annoyed with me?” I asked as he pulled out my chair. “I wouldn’t blame you. I annoy a lot of people.”
“Annoyed with you?” He looked puzzled. “No, Toni, I’m not annoyed with you, not at all.”
He took my arm as we headed down the stairs, and my heart soared. “Can we still go to the party?”
He turned to me in the gloom of the stairwell. “Sure, Toni. Yeah, we’ll go to the party.”
I wanted to jump up and kiss him, but since he hadn’t kissed me yet, that would have been unseemly and patently overeager, even for me. What would Sara advise? She was the only one of us who’d had a real live boyfriend. I settled for trying to sigh prettily. “I don’t see any taxis.”
“Well then.” He smiled. “I’m going to have to walk you home tonight.”
There was still something wrong, but as long as it wasn’t me, I didn’t much care. A car rolled by with a Beatles song blaring out of its radio. “She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah…” It was almost embarrassing. I tried to look away, but Cassidy winked and put his arm around me again. I would definitely have to tell Grady all about him. At some point.
The streets were deserted. I had a thousand questions about the party, but I used all my willpower to keep my mouth shut. He, too, was quiet, lost in thought. It was like we had the city all to ourselves. Every so often Cassidy would stroke or squeeze my arm, but every so often he would also shake his head and sigh. Just a little. I didn’t think he even knew he was doing it.
Steam rose up off the sidewalks and disappeared above the fogged streetlamps. It had rained while we were in the club, but it was still hot. We walked through the smell of warm, wet tar, accompanied by the fading sounds of cars whooshing through puddles on faraway streets. I vowed to remember every single detail. They would be the sounds and scents that I would always associate with this night, this city and the sad, handsome man who had his arm around me.
“Navy Blue”
(DIANE RENAY)
&nbs
p; IT TOOK ME a while to track down Dodgy Dave. Rachel and Big Bob had been egging me on—insisting, actually. I found him on Wellesley Street, just outside of Queen’s Park, showing his wares to people who looked like they actually worked in that pink castle building.
“Hey, Dave!”
“Hey, Star of David chick!”
Wow, not only did he have an excellent memory, but he didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed or caught out. That gave me pause, but I’d been practicing, so I didn’t let it stop me from chewing him out in front of potential customers for selling me jewelry that had turned my neck green. Even then Dodgy Dave didn’t lose his cool.
“Okay, chickie, you got me. What can I do to make up for it?”
Well, that had gone better than expected. Big Bob had coached me on various scenarios, and here Dave had just up and folded in front of me.
“Oh. Uh, I need a pin for a gentleman who has just become a Canadian citizen. He passed his exams and everything.”
“Lucky for you, my little bunny”—Dave reached into an inside pocket in the great big trench coat—“I got this little baby. It’s an artist’s rendering of the top three designs for the new Canadian flag. Perfect, huh? It’ll be a keepsake to be passed down from generation to generation.”
It was beautiful. Mr. Kenyatta would love it. “I’ll take it! How much?”
“Come on, kid, you were doing fine right up until then.” We had attracted a few extra bystanders. “You done real good reaming me out and now you blow it by asking me how much. Start again.”
I cleared my throat. “It’ll do.” I shrugged uncertainly. “So, uh, I’m going to take this pin as compensation for the, uh, other item that was a grievous mistake on your part.”
